


At the End of All Things

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1813273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was silent there, sitting on the edge of the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of All Things

It was silent there, sitting on the edge of the end. Dean’s legs dangled into space, red dusty rock under his ass and palms. Idly, he breathed, trying the inflation of lungs on for size. The air was thin here, oxygen depleted and tasted of copper. He gave it up almost immediately. 

Sam found him there as he always eventually did. Experimentally, Dean had run from Sam for two entire centuries. It was an epic game of hide and go seek that ranged across several galaxies. It had been something like fun and Sam had only roughed him up a little when he finally tracked him down to a seedy bar that served booze that tasted of aniseed. 

“Hey,” Sam sat down beside him, their thighs brushing. It was Sam’s original body, the one that Dean still found comfortingly familiar. Out of habit, Dean shifted into the matching flesh and Sam grinned at him. 

“Seems fitting,” Dean picked up Sam’s hand, entangled their fingers. “You ready for this?” 

“It’s not like it matters,” Sam’s smile faded and he leaned in a little closer. “But...yeah. I guess I’m ready.” 

Dimly, Dean was aware of the celestial presences around them. The angels and demons had been gathering for awhile now. There weren’t many left of them, an endangered species for years beyond counting. If Dean concentrated, he could separate each presence and name them. Castiel was closest, the tingling warmth of him settled at Dean’s back. He rarely bothered with manifestation anymore, but he didn’t like to stray far either. 

The demons and angels were all very quiet now. They had an accord, had had one for an eon now forged when Dean had gotten bored of ruling hell and Sam got annoyed with playing God. They’d switched off for awhile to see if it would help and eventually gave it all up and threw the sides in together. Since then Castiel had dug his metaphysical fingers into Dean’s soul and clung there. 

“Soon,” Sam gave up pretending apathy and pulled Dean closer so he could rest his pointed chin on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s only a bit of rock.” 

“It’s ours though,” Dean sighed. “Was ours.” 

“We bled for it,” Sam sighed. “Do you remember?” 

“Yes. More than I should.” 

There was a stretch of time when Dean didn’t remember. Some spell or incident, it hardly mattered now, the details lost. He remembered nearly nothing and wound up climbing a mountain and playing wise hermit for a long time. It had been peaceful on the mountain. A young beautiful man had joined him eventually, played his disciple. They’d been very happy together, left mostly alone to tend their little goat flock and grow a garden. Eventually, whatever had hampered Dean’s memory caved to the passage of time and he recognized Sam. They’d gone on pretending for awhile longer. 

Dean had done a stint as a fighter pilot after that. Sam had gotten another doctorate, maybe the one in neuropathology? 

“I sometimes wonder if we’ll be here when it’s all over,” Sam swallowed, the sound echoing in Dean’s ear. “What if the universe winds down and we’re still here?” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean said because it wasn’t as if the same thought didn’t sometimes plague his sleep. 

“I got blown up by an atomic bomb last week.” 

“Ouch,” Dean rubbed a soothing thumb over the back of Sam’s hand. “Thought those had gone out of style.” 

“Terrorism is never out of style. But I mean, Dean. Atomic. Bomb. I’m not supposed to walk away from things like that. I’m still....” 

“Still what?” Dean prodded because he’d love to know. They’d left behind human a long time ago. It had taken a long time to admit it, a dozen cycles of death and rebirth, a dozen Shakespearean tragedies before they had to face the truth. They weren’t gods or angels or demons or vampires or wendigos. They weren’t anything in their father’s battered journal or on the shelves of the Men of Letters. 

They were something new and ill defined. 

“Still Winchesters,” Sam settled on. 

“Whatever that means.” 

It got hot. Very hot. Dean didn’t bother shrugging off his shirt. It wasn’t that kind of heat. Castiel shivered and wrapped himself protectively around Dean and Sam as if they still required his shielding. Gabriel was there too, flavoring the air with something like burnt caramel and regret. He led the angels into song, a lullaby. The demons danced around them, a fog of black and red. 

“I feel like we should be stopping it somehow,” Sam moved closer still, their cheeks rasping together. 

“There’s no one left down there to save,” Dean reminded him. “It’s been too hot to handle for a long long time.” 

“But all our homes, the Impala, Lawrence, the bunker, Allayah’s place, the Hideout, Efrit, the mountain, Dublin, Beijing....” 

“They’re just ghosts now, Sammy. We got ‘em in our heads where they’re alive. That’ll have to do it.” 

The sagging red sun that two boys had once turned up their faces to pulsed and a tiny round rock burst into flames. 

The earth disappeared. 

Sam shuddered and buried his face in Dean’s neck just as he had when they watched horror movies as kids. Dean kissed the crown of Sam’s head and kept his eyes wide open. He owed the earth that at least. After all, it had given him this life, this endless crazy life and Sam to spend it with. He could forgive a lot for that. 

The angels went on singing and the demons went on dancing, but the Winchesters got up when their asses started going numb and walked across the surface of the asteroid. There were other worlds worth saving now, other people in new kinds of trouble. 

I would like to see the blue one again, Castiel whispered over Dean’s mind. That endless ice. 

“Wanna go to Hoth, Sammy?” Dean asked with a grin. 

“It’s called Cappella-9,” Sam bitched, but he slid his arms around Dean’s waist. 

“Whatever, I bet you I can get the locals calling it Hoth in a week.” 

“I’m only taking that bet if we don’t use powers.” 

“That’s half the fun!” 

“No bet,” Sam laughed and closed his eyes as Dean swept them away. On the deserted surface of the asteroid, two pairs of boot prints remained.


End file.
